Scent of Iris

I love this time of year because of the clouds of scent that drift around me when I walk down the street. Some I recognize, like the creamy vanilla scent of wisteria. Others are mysteries like the delicious clove-scented aroma that wafts my way when I cross a particular intersection near my home. And still others can be enjoyed only if you get up close and personal with the flower.

the irises on my block: root beer or old girdles?

One of those is the scent of irises. I have my friend, Richard, to thank for introducing me to it on a walk many years ago. It is a subtle scent, most noticeable when the sun is shining and most pronounced when you bend down and stick your nose right into the heart of the flower. I was stunned by what I found there. The scent was voluptuous: a mixture of sugar and violets. At least, that’s how it smelled to me. Richard said his ex-wife thought they smelled like old girdles.

I had passed by irises for years without considering they might be fragrant. Apparently, my ignorance is common. A few years back, I visited the mecca of iris lovers, Schreiner’s, a fabled iris garden in Salem Oregon, with my friend, Michael. I remember getting out of the car and being swept away by the delicious perfume of the irises in wafting off the fields.

But no one else seemed to notice. Visitors strolled through the grassy aisles, catalogs in hand, pointing out the features they admired: fringed falls, speckled standards, bright orange beards like neon caterpillars. Everyone was dazzled by the colors and shapes of the irises, yet I was the only person bending over and smelling the flowers.

I bobbed up and down the rows, quickly learning that the darker the iris, the more luscious the scent. My favorites were in the range of black, irises with names like Hello Darkness and Around Midnight. The blues were also delightful: they tended to be sweet and amiable.

Schreiners also sells cut irises, which surprised me. I had never seen them as cut flowers and I wondered why. On our way home, we purchased a dozen. Inside Michael’s small car, the odor of iris bloomed and swelled. Within a half hour we were giddy with it, another half hour and we were dizzy. It’s not an easy scent to take in enclosed spaces, perhaps one reason the iris has not caught on as a cut flower.

We discovered another reason after we got the flowers home. When irises decay, they turn into blobs of brown goo that are viscous and rubbery to the touch. When I mopped up the puddles off the top of the piano, I found they had stripped the varnish off the wood. And the smell—yes, it does resemble old girdles.

The description of a scent is highly subjective, like the flavor of wine. It is influenced by associations and memories. When I smell irises, colors sway me. I think the yellow ones smell more like citrus while the purple ones remind me of violets. My daughter says the irises down the block smell like root beer. Smell the irises in your neighborhood and let me know what you think.